Everything But Family
by Diary
Summary: Millicent Bulstrode's sixth year involves a drunken game of spin-the-bottle, her first boyfriend, and increasing fear for herself and her family. Complete. Edited slightly.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

Logically, Millicent Bulstrode knows that alcohol isn't going to help.

However, she's a sixteen-year-old girl, and she's just read about another hag colony being attacked by the Dark Lord. Fifteen are dead, eighteen are in critical, and sixteen are suffering survivable injuries. One of the dead was a little three-year-old half-breed, father a vampire. Apparently, she loved blood lollies and was buried with her favourite stuffed toy, a zebra enchanted to sing. The picture showed her wearing a lacy, baby blue dress with matching bloomers, her green hair in ringlets.

Millicent's mum and grandmother refuse to let her come home; she knows they've been talking to Dumbledore and Snape about her staying over the summer, too.

So, logically, she knows alcohol isn't going to help, but she's still taking another slow sip of the bottle of beer someone had snuck in.

Snape's been gone for the week, and none of the prefects care about the rest having house parties. They, she reflects, feeling the tingling burn running through the veins in her arms, probably have to deal with more anti-Slytherin shit than anyone else.

"Let's pway spin-the-bottle," a sloppy fifth year declares.

First, Millicent hopes none of the fourth years or younger managed to sneak in. Second, no.

She scoots further into a corner of the common room, determined to nick some beers and sneak back up to the dorms if need be. She might be at a party, drinking, two things she's never done, but piss it if she's going to let her first kiss happen thanks to a bottle randomly pointing at someone whose name she likely won't even know.

…

Three beers later, everything is vaguely red-coloured and she's dying for a plate of beets.

Someone grabs her hand and tugs. "C'mon, Bul, 's your turn."

Some part of her thinks she should protest, but she's too busy focusing on the strange mingling of green light with red spots to do so. Her hand is placed on a bottle, and someone orders, "Spin."

She does, and it lands on Blaise Zabini. She wonders if he's worried about his mum, who the ministry hates. Not that she particularly blames them for that, seeing as how there's a good chance Mrs Zabini, or whatever her surname is, has a tendency to kill her husbands and then use her diplomatic immunity to get away with it. Still, Zabini's okay.

There's a pressure against her mouth, and the first thing that comes to mind is sheer panic.

It doesn't last long, however, before she forgets why she was panicking and finds herself curious about the sensations. _So, I'm kissing someone_, briefly flits across her mind. It's messy and awkward-feeling; she can taste weird things in her mouth, and her teeth bump into things.

Some part of her body heats up, though, and some part of her feels like moving closer, sucking on the tongue in her mouth, licking his teeth.

Before any of that can happen, someone pulls them apart. "Oi, there are sober people present! If you want to snog, wait until you're sober, go on a date, and then, do it in the privacy of your own bed!"

"Why would we have to go on a date," she inquires, reasonably, trying to get her bearings and not give into the urge to butt her head against the person standing nearby. "And," she informs them, accusingly, "you didn't specify which bed. It'd have to be, -um, that was Zabini wasn't it?-, but it'd have to be his, because boys can't come into the girls'. And I'm not sure staying alive means going into purebloods boys room, right? 'Cause, everyone knows 'bout me mum and grandmum, and-"

"Millicent, look at the shiny light," someone says, holding up a twinkling object. "If you can catch it, I'll give you your favourite sweets."

"Beets," she says, decisively, determined to catch the light.

…

She wakes up, and thankfully, aside from an itchy tongue and sore breasts, she's fine. There's no headache, nausea, or any of the other side effects. She supposes it might be her hag blood.

Unthankfully, she has a crystal clear memory of last night.

So, she'd snogged Zabini, babbled about her opinion that snogging in bed need not require dating and her blood status, and then, chased after the light reflected off a muggle coin around the room until she tired herself out and fell asleep on one of the couches.

Protection against hangovers or not, Millicent now knows conclusively that her being a teetotaller is best for everyone involved, especially herself.

Greengrass pokes her head through the curtains, and Millicent realises someone must have floated her up to the dorms, putting her in her bed. "Hey," the other girl says, softly. "need a sobering potion?"

"No," she answers, crawling out of bed. "No hangover for me."

"Lucky you," Greengrass comments.

She starts to leave, but Millicent stops her. "Uh- Daphne? Who brought me up here, and um, who all was at the-"

Taking pity (great; she usually despises pity), Daphne says, "The house-elves always appear when parties are over; they take kids in the common room back up to the dorms. And," she continues, kindly, "don't worry. In terms of making a fool of yourself, what you did was mild. No one's going to bother you."

"Thank you," Millicent says, hoping she's right.

Nodding, Daphne disappears, and soon after Millicent's changed into a fresh pair of robes, Fifi, one of the house-elves, appears with her breakfast. "Miss Millie alright?"

Guilt overtakes her; calling her a rule-follower would probably be inaccurate, but hexing people (unjustly), drinking, and snogging people are all things she's been rather good at not doing. "Yeah; I've gotten that act of rebellion out of my system and will never be doing any of that again."

Snogging, possibly, but if she does, she will be sober and not babbling about whose bed would be the best place to do so in.

…

"Bulstrode, wait up!"

Starting to rethink her opinion of Zabini being tolerable, she stops. "Emergency practise session," she inquires, noting his Quidditch uniform and the broom he's carrying.

"Try-outs," he corrects, looking at her incredulously.

She shrugs, not particularly caring. While most of the school is at Quidditch matches and can name, at least, two or three professional teams, she's always in the library under Madam Pince's supervision and knows that one professional team has an actual leprechaun for a mascot and that another team wears bright blue robes with white sashes.

"Look," he says, scuffing his shoe against the ground, "I know we were both drunk last night, but it was- nice. I was wondering if you were up for another go?"

Seeing he's serious, she considers it. He is handsome, and even more importantly, he's smart. He doesn't talk about parties, clothes, and hooking up; most of the time, when he talks, it's about the news or a homework assignment. She remembers the feeling of kissing and wants to feel that again. Some part of her stomach recoils at the thought, though.

He rode with Malfoy and Pansy at the beginning of the year. He might have chosen that side.

"I'm no fan of Potter, but you know I'm on that side, don't you?"

"I know," he acknowledges. "So am I. I'm just trying to keep my mum and me non-threats to the more deadly side."

"We can try it," she agrees. "But I don't know if I'm actually ready or not, and either way, I don't want people talking about it. Whatever happens stays between you and me, yeah?"

He nods, smiling slightly. "See you later, then?"

They make plans to meet in Snape's study, and then, she heads to Madam Pomfrey's.

The nurse has to deal with a girl sprouting oversized bat wings, a boy with a severed hand, and a seventh year Millicent suspects is pregnant. The last one, Pomfrey takes into her office, closing the door, and when they come out, Millicent's free period is almost over. "I'll write you a note, Miss Bulstrode," Madam Pomfrey says, kindly. "Do we need to talk privately, dear?"

There's no one else in the hospital wing, but someone could come in at any minute. "Yes," she answers.

Inside, Madam Pomfrey shuts the door. "What do you need?"

"I haven't done anything," she prefaces, "but there's a chance I might, and I want to start using contraception."

The last thing she needs is to have a daughter at age sixteen, especially in a time of war. Of course, there's the other option, but from what she's read, pregnancy terminations tend to become harder to safely access in times of war.

Madam Pomfrey nods, and Millicent knows most people find her calm expression a relief. An employer of such expressions herself, Millicent doesn't like it when she doesn't have a good guess of where people stand with her.

Pansy Parkinson thinks she's ugly. Draco Malfoy would like to see her expelled but has always been too busy with Potter and his lot to care that much about going after her. Most of the non-Slytherins think she's ugly, rude, and stupid (never mind the fact she's making straight Os). Most of the professors are wary about her and talk to her mum and grandmum about 'antisocialism' and 'lacking empathy'. She's never going to live down putting Granger into a headlock, she knows, and if she could go back in time, she'd tell herself not to bother, just let Granger cast the spell even though it was magic stolen from hags by a rapist wizard a few centuries ago.

Magic, she's learned, is fair game. If a Being doesn't want their information used against them, they shouldn't seek it, and if they do, they shouldn't use it. If they do either, there's a good chance it'll be used against them and their loved ones. At twelve, though, she hadn't understood any of that, only feeling the anger burning through her as the little witch who'd decided to go try to kill an innocent troll had tried to use the magic of Millicent's foremothers against her.

"Do you know what sort you'd like?"

"I've read about them, but I'm not sure what the best for me is. I don't just want to rely on the boy to use the charm, and I don't want my mum or grandmother to know."

Nodding, Madam Pomfrey says, "I can understand not wanting to rely solely on the charm, but it's best to use it in addition to other methods. Is muggle completely ruled out? St. Mungo's does offer muggle forms of contraception."

"Yes," Millicent answers. She trusts Madam Pomfrey and the healers to keep confidentiality, but she has a nagging feeling her family will somehow find out if she goes to St. Mungo's. "I don't want anything that requires St. Mungo's."

"Well," Madam Pomfrey says, summoning a book over, "let's see." Sitting down next to Millicent, she opens it. "There's the female charm, but it has a high fail rate. It's better than nothing, however," she adds. Pointing down at the book, she says, "One option is..."

…

"Have you ever kissed anyone?"

"No," she answers.

"I did when I was eight," he tells her. "No tongue, and it only lasted a few seconds."

"I didn't ask," she points out, and then, realises how abrupt that sounds. "Look, Zabini, I don't understand why people always feel the need to tell someone they're involved with about their history with other people. If they want to or they need to explain about a kid or a disease, that's one thing. Ask me whatever you want, I don't mind, but just so you know, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"Alright," he agrees.

There's an awkward moment, and she starts to wonder why she ever thought this was a good idea.

"I don't want to fight," Zabini rushes out. "I mean, everyone who- they fight. Can we just agree to be honest and try not to get mad? If one of us isn't happy, we just say so and not make the other feel bad?"

"That sounds good to me. Unless this becomes more serious, I think we should be able to go on dates with other people."

"Good to me," he echoes.

Tentatively, she reaches over to touch his hand. "Want to try snogging again?"

"Yeah," he answers.

…

"We had another letter from Professor McGonagall," her mum says, tentatively.

Sighing, Millicent looks down at her beet and crawfish stew. She should have known there was a reason for them letting her come home during the weekend. "She needs to mind her own business; she's not my head. The cow still hasn't gotten over me putting Granger in a headlock."

In all honesty, she is ashamed of that, and she isn't petulant over being punished anymore. If anything, she would punished any student who did that much harsher than Snape had done to her. However, Granger and her lot have broken so many rules, rules that go beyond such childish things, and they aren't still trying to live their mistakes down.

"She's a witch, not a cow," her grandmother scolds.

Millicent doesn't answer. She knows she gets her somewhat unsympathetic nature from her grandmother. 'Mistakes are never paid for,' is something she's heard since she was old enough to walk. Whether her grandmum intended for her to grow up following the rules or just learn how to not get caught, she doesn't know, but at home, it's often the latter.

"Honey," her mum says, "she's just worried for you. She thinks you ought to take apparition lessons."

"No," Millicent answers.

She's been using that room Potter trained his army in to practise apparition. It's resulted in a few minor injuries, but she's almost gotten the hang of it. There's no need to waste money on the lessons, and she can independently take the test for her license after she graduates.

"She's also worried about your antisocialism," her grandmum says, amused.

Rolling her eyes, Millicent shakes her head. "It's been six years. She can stop worrying anytime."

Briefly, she considers telling them about Zabini, but she doesn't want their worry and curiosity, and she's not sure how to explain. 'My housemate and I occasionally snog,' isn't something she thinks they'd approve of.

"Listen, little one," her grandmum says. "That isn't the only thing we need to discuss."

Setting her spoon down, Millicent takes a drink of her pumpkin juice and looks at them.

"The Dark Lord is getting more powerful," her grandmother starts. "And there's a colony in York; the leader has agreed to let us travel with them."

"When? What do I need to do about Yumiko?"

"Honey, they plan to assemble at the start of summer; they're going to China," her mum tells her. "You'll be seventeen soon, and we want to know honestly if you want to come. If not, we need to make arrangements for you to stay somewhere safe until the next term starts."

"I'm going with you," she says. "What do we need to do about the kitty?"

"Millicent," her grandmother says, quietly, "of course, we don't want to be separated, but your future, your classmates-"

Zabini pops into her head, but she quickly pushes the thought away, inwardly scolding herself. "My future is getting through this war with my family. My classmates? Would they be the purebloods who support You-Know-Who, the ones who talk about me behind my back, or the ones whose names I couldn't remember if my life depended on it?"

Her mum sighs, and she feels a pang of guilt. She knows how badly her mother wanted her to make friends and have this idealised childhood that her mum herself never got. "They're not all bad. Some of them and me get along decently. But none of them are as important as you two."

…

That night, Millicent thinks of Zabini. Some part of her feels she should tell him about this, but she can't see why she should. They aren't dating.

Still, what if they become more? Then, it would be something he'd have a right to know.

At times like this, she wishes she had a friend. She doesn't want to discuss this with her mum or grandmum, and she has doubts about getting any meaningful feedback from her cat.

…

Back at school, she and Zabini are assigned to do an astronomy project together.

"How were your mum and grandmum," he asks as they sit together on the tower, away from the other groups.

"Still worried," she answers. "It's not as if Hogwarts is any safer. You-Know-Who, his servants, and horrible professors have all managed to get in. Diggory died. At least, at home, I'd be able to protect them."

"I'm sorry," he says, sympathetically. "I worry about my mum, too. I mean, obviously, she's not much of a target for him, but Moody, the real one, absolutely hates her."

"I can't say I approve of what your mum allegedly does, but it seems like with a war, he'd be more focused on more potential death eaters. She's not even engaged, is she?"

"No, she's promised not to see anyone until after the war's over." Sighing, he adds, heavily, "And as much as I appreciate it, it's obvious to everyone there's no alleged about it. She is who she is, and I've learned to accept it."

"How do you accept something like that?" She pauses. "If that's-"

"It's fine," he interrupts. "I wonder about that, too. I guess you just do. She's my mum. She loves feral cows, opera, and she enters knitting competitions and crashes muggle sporting events every month or so. When I was nine, I had an allergic reaction to the dragon pox vaccine and had red skin, yellow-brown eyes, and fins and wings on my neck. She found this muggle gathering where almost everyone was dressed in outrageous outfits, and we spent the day there."

"Hags are immune to dragon pox," she says without really thinking as she makes a note on her parchment.

"What about half-breeds with hag blood?"

She tenses, and he notices. "Is that off-limits?"

"No," she answers, carefully. "Just surprised, that's all."

"Not much of a secret, is it?"

"Guess not," she acknowledges. "Blood, not breed. Half-breed makes it sound like I'm a chimera."

"Alright," he agrees. "Sorry."

"I don't know if it's true for everyone, but I have enough in me that I'm immune."

"Lucky you."

"Well, you're immune, now, too."

"I had wings and fins on my throat."

She tries not to laugh.

…

When it's time to go back in, Zabini stands up and helps her up.

Before Zabini can let go, Malfoy startles them. "Best enjoy your little romance while you can. You're safe, Zabini, as long as you don't do anything stupid, but your girlfriend is living on borrowed time. Hags have no purpose as a slave class."

Millicent lets go of Zabini's hand and yanks him back, stepping forward. "Zabini and I are astronomy partners, Malfoy. And if I'm living on borrowed time, I'd appreciate you not wasting it."

"Fair enough," Malfoy says, wandering away.

"What did you do," Zabini asks, quietly, once Malfoy's out of sight. "He never backs down."

"I'm not Potter," she answers. "Malfoy has no use for me, and he doesn't have much for you, but it's Potter he loves to torment."

"He's been acting weird," Zabini says as they lie down to slide down the suddenly straight, flat stairs. "When term started, he talked about not coming back his seventh year."

"I imagine a lot of people won't," she answers. "People are already starting to flee. Won't be long before students going here do, too. Dumbledore's back on top, but we've seen how quickly the ministry's gotten about turning back and forth on people and issues."

They get to the bottom and stand up. "Speaking of," she says, "I can't guarantee I'll be one of the ones coming back."

"I understand."

Looking at a hallway clock, she says, "It'll be an hour before the prefects do bed checks. Want to find a closet?"

Smiling, he nods and holds out his hand.

…

"What are your career plans?"

"I'll worry about that when the war's over," she says, politely.

Or at least, she thought her tone was polite, but judging by Snape's sigh and the irritated way he rubs his head, she has the sinking feeling she's wrong.

"You and everyone else, Miss Bulstrode. Some form of plan would be nice."

"I plan to save up and start a pub."

Snape looks up in interest. "A pub, Miss Bulstrode? That's an interesting goal."

"My grandmum's always wanted to be landlady of one," she tells him. "I can save up and get through the regulations."

He sighs, and Millicent wonders if she's about to get detention. "You're going to live your grandmother's dream."

"I've read about pubs, sir. As long as they're in a decent neighbourhood and legally ran, they're a good source of income."

"Miss Bulstrode, you have straight Os. Aside from your time in Madam Umbridge's little club, you have an impeccable record. I would suggest you do something worthwhile with your life."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't see why running a pub-"

"Of course, it's a respectable enough job and requires talent and hard work, but you just told me that your reasons have to do with fulfilling your grandmother's desires rather than your own."

"I want to run a business with my family; that's what I've always wanted."

In truth, she doesn't know what else she can do. She's not going to work for the ministry, and that leaves the arts, teaching, working menial jobs, or running a business. She isn't creative enough to write fiction and would find writing articles or doing research on stories tedious. She's not an artist, singer, dancer, or actress. She'd hex the whole class to death, never mind the fact her hag blood might prevent her from being allowed to teach in the first place. She can find work and save up, and then, she'll be able to take care of her family.

Once they get the pub going, there will be no more worrying about money or about the villagers who throw rocks; things will finally be better. And she really would rather work with her family than at a job where she doesn't know anyone.

"Very well."

He dismisses her, and she reckons he's labelled her a lost cause. At the beginning of the year, he'd tried to get her to take Slughorn's potion class, but she'd resisted. She's been making potions since she was young, and hearing about it being an art form for years by Snape had made her lose interest in seriously pursuing the subject. It'd just be another year of her being bored in class but forcing herself to play enough attention so that she could get an O.

Snape went on about it being an art, but questions about the theories behind potions, the requirement the maker is somewhat magical, and doing experiment in class weren't tolerated.

Finding Zabini, they slip quietly slip into an empty classroom, locking the door.

"How'd it go?"

"Alright," she answers, reaching for him.

They've gotten better at snogging, and lately, they've been slipping their hands under one another's shirts. It's nice, but she's not sure if she's ready to go further.

…

Later, as they're finishing up the paper for astronomy, she asks, "What about you, Zabini? How'd your meeting go?"

He shrugs. "I reckon he's labelled me a lost cause."

"Really?"

Nodding, he looks around. "The truth is I like clothes and stuff in that vein."

"There's nothing wrong with liking fashion."

"If you're a girl, there's not," he answers.

She's not sure if she can argue that or not.

"When I was younger, I alternated between wanting to be a robe maker and being a styling consultant."

"Have you changed your mind?"

"I can speak six languages, and I'm learning more. There's a good market for people with a knack for that." He shrugs. "No shame, but Snape said something about me not reaching my full potential. He only knows how to speak three and doesn't seem to be in any hurry to learn more."

Millicent tells herself to be quiet, and then, refuses to listen as she says, "Not my place, but that's cowardly, Zabini. You dress very nicely; it's one of the first things people notice about you. You'd probably be great at robe making or anything else involving fashion. You don't like most of the people here, but you're going to let them and their moronic ideas keep you from being happy?"

"Them? No," he answers. "Everyone knows my mum's name. If I become famous, everyone will know whose son I am. It'll only cause more problems for her."

"She brought them-"

"Don't," he snaps.

"Fine," she says. "Like I said, not my place."

Still irritated, he asks, "What about you?"

"I'm going to help save up so that my family can start a pub."

"I always thought you'd be a researcher or professor."

"Being a professor usually involves not despising children."

"Hasn't stopped Snape, Umbridge, or the professors who hate us Slytherins."

"Independent researchers rarely get enough funding, and I'm not working for anything connected to the ministry."

"And travelling's out?"

"I want to always stay close to my family," she answers. "I know, most kids move out after they find a job and make enough to rent or buy. But that's not our way. My grandmum was disowned from her colony when she married my granddad. My mum's always lived with her, and I'm always going to live with them, even if I do get married or have a daughter."

"What about a son?"

"Pay attention in class, much," she inquires. "It's third year information, Zabini. Hags have the ability to reproduce asexually three times in their life. It's always a girl. Hags who have babies the other way theoretically could have a boy, but it's never been recorded."

She thinks about that for a moment. "Well, between that and always living with my mum and grandmother, I think it's safe to say I'm never getting married."

"I never want to have children," he says, "and most people nowadays only get married if they're planning on it. I guess I can say the same." Then, he says, "I might always live with my mum, too. I don't know. We have elves, and it'd probably be best for them if she and I stayed together until I managed to get a decent household together, and I'm not sure I see the point. She's like your family, she'd be happy for me to stay."

"No wonder he thinks we're hopeless. I'm a half-breed, and neither of us may ever leave home. I reckon he left the minute he turned seventeen."

"And promptly joined the death eaters," Zabini counters. "I don't think he's muggle-born, but I know he's not pure."

"Are you?"

"No," he answers. "I had muggles, muggle-borns, and and half-bloods as great-grandparents on my mum's side. Whoever my dad was, I don't think he was one of the ones she married."

She starts to tell him about her grandfather, but a camera literally zooming past and almost hitting them both on the head ruins the moment.

Making a startled noise, a boy in muggle clothes appears. "Sorry, I was trying a new spell, and it was only supposed to, you aren't hurt are you, I'm didn't mean-"

"We're fine, Creevey," she interrupts, recognising him as the Gryffindor who begged her to get the Inquisitorial Squad to agree to a picture. His little brother is absolutely terrified of her. "Your camera crashed into the wall."

"Ah," he groans, rushing over. "'Use a locator spell,' she says. Well, found him, might have permanently damaged my camera. I'm not listening to-"

"Sorry to interrupt your private rant," Zabini says, causing her to barely manage to stifle a laugh, "but am I who you're looking for?"

"Oh, yeah," Creevey says, bouncing up and setting his camera on the table. As he starts trying to fix it, he says, "Do you have a girlfriend? Or a best mate? Harry thinks that Slytherin's going to win against Ravenclaw, and I'm taking pictures of everyone on the winning team with someone special. Except Captain Urquhart; he's insisting on just having his picture with the Ravenclaw captain."

Muggle boy, Millicent thinks.

Muggle-borns and many half-bloods don't think to ask if a boy has boyfriend or a girl has a girlfriend. Wizarding society doesn't care about that sort of thing; hundreds of years ago, there were some problems with old families dying out because people either wouldn't marry or would but wouldn't conceive an heir. That's mostly been sorted out, now. Zabini's right, most people only marry if they plan on having children, and when it comes to old families, people like Nott and Malfoy are rarities. Most of them have three or four children, nowhere near the amount the Weasleys have, but enough to make sure one or more of them tending towards their own sex doesn't put the family name in risk of extinction.

She's read about how touchy muggles get about such things, passing discriminatory laws, passing laws against discrimination, using rape and intrusive medical procedures to try to make them different.

"Well," Zabini says, looking at her, "Bulstrode, would you like to be in the picture with me? I need someone, and you're the housemate I like the best."

"Same," she answers, wondering if this means the quasi-relationship they have is getting more serious. "I'd be happy to."

…

"Why don't you eat in the Great Hall?"

"It has people."

"But you don't seem to have a problem being around people."

"I don't like it," she answers.

In truth, she's heard enough of the villager's comments to know it'd only make her a bigger outcast. Compared to full humans, she eats a lot. Hags are carnivorous, and she prefers raw, bleeding meat. She hates tea and rarely cares for sweets. Beets are considered gross by most of her classmates.

"I'd like to eat with you."

"No," she says.

He starts to remove his hand from her chest, and reaching up to keep it in place, she clarifies, "Not no to that, keep going."

"Why not?"

"Zabini, you're a vegetarian, and I'm sure you have impeccable table manners. I'm literally a carnivore. I can eat fruits, vegetables, and other things, but they aren't necessary. Meat is. And I don't eat like a cat or crup does, but always using silverware and napkins has never been enforced at my house."

"I don't care about any of that."

"I do," she retorts.

There's a crash, and they both jump, going to peer out the door.

Snape strides into the boy's loo, and she says, "Someone wouldn't be mad enough to be duelling in there, would they?"

"I don't know," he answers, grabbing both their bags, "but neither of us want to be here."

"Agreed."

…

Later, Zabini tells her, "It was Potter and Malfoy. Potter still thinks Malfoy cursed Bell," he says, referring to the incident a few months ago when a Gryffindor girl was almost killed by a Dark necklace.

"I assume Potter cast the first spell, then. Is he going to be punished?"

"Probably not," Zabini answers. "I mean, he'll probably get detention, but that's all."

"Some chosen one," she grits out.

"Are you upset on Malfoy's behalf," he inquires, looking at her strangely.

Rolling her eyes, Millicent says, "I couldn't give a toss about him. But do you think Malfoy would use a cursed object to try to kill a girl he's never spoken two words with?"

"Of course not," Zabini answers. "Besides, Bell has enough magic in her ancestry she could claim pureblood status if she wanted, and since Malfoy isn't on the team anymore, there's no advantage to him doing it."

"Malfoy's a prick, but Potter's going after him because he hates him, and everyone's letting him. Let's hope he doesn't decide to go after more trolls, or vampires, or hags. Giants and centaurs should be safe, but who knows about anything else when it comes to the chosen one."

"Snape isn't much liked, either," Zabini points out. "Not much he can do."

In Millicent's opinion, there's a lot he could do. But he's biding his time for something. She just hopes he's really not still a supporter of the Dark Lord. Malfoy's a boy, but Snape's a man, and he has the addresses of every non-pureblood and blood traitor in school. He's given career counselling to some of them, knows their allergies and medical conditions, and has even worked with parents to have parties thrown for them at school.

"Well, I'm going home for the weekend," she tells him. "I reckon my mum and grandmum have already heard about this."

They'd almost decided to withdraw her completely during Christmas but ultimately decided against it. She's still not sure how she feels; of course, she wants to be with them, to protect them. However, some part of her had been happy she got more time with Zabini. She's not proud of that part.

"Good luck," he says, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

…

As Millicent is returning a library book, she hears quiet whispers. Recognising her name being spoken, she quietly moves closer.

"How should I know," Malfoy inquires, bitterly.

"You need to find out," Nott answers. "Bulstrode is dangerous. Zabini isn't by himself, but if it's true they've formed an alliance or are in puppy love, he's dangerous, too."

"You aren't one of us, Nott!"

"My father is," Nott counters.

"Miss Bulstrode!"

Damn it, Millicent thinks, heart beating as she quickly races over to Professor Flitwick, looking back to try to see if they've peaked around the shelves to see where she was. "Yes, sir?"

He gives her a suspicious look, and then, looks down at his clipboard. "Headmaster Dumbledore has ordered an increase in security regarding flooing; you'll need to take the express, Miss Bulstrode. I'm sorry. If you'd like for a professor to escort you, that can be arranged, and of course, your meals will be provided without charge."

"No, thank you, sir," she answers. "I'll be fine on my own. Am I still leaving Friday night, or do I need to wait until Saturday?"

A whole day on the train; her parents will have to travel to London to pick her up. If she leaves Friday and stays for both days, she'll have to make up her class next Saturday. If she leaves on Saturday, she'll barely be able to spend time with her mum and grandmother before she's heading right back.

Millicent understands why increased security is necessary, but she thinks not letting students floo home on the weekends is going too far.

"Whichever you prefer," he answers.

…

Later, she tells Zabini.

"I can go with you," he says. "Mum won't mind me visiting, and there's no reason for Snape to deny my request."

"It's a night's ride."

"If you don't want me to, fine, but I wouldn't mind."

"Alright," she agrees, repressing the urge to tell him about Malfoy and Nott. She has to tell her mum and grandmum, there's no question, even though she doesn't want to. She does want to tell Zabini, but for all she knows, that could be a tragic mistake.

…

"You really don't need to pack a suitcase," Millicent tells Fifi.

"In case train gets stuck," the elf answers, determinedly.

If the train gets stuck, Millicent is apparating. Zabini can risk side-along or fend for himself.

"Thank you, Fifi," Millicent says as the elf finishes.

"Fifi bring Miss Millie food."

"Thank you," she repeats. "Fifi, could you see if Blaise Zabini needs some, too?"

Zabini, she's discovered, doesn't eat after a long practise session. While most people are starving, his body is too tired to accept food without getting sick. Usually, at two or three in the morning, he'll wake up and sneak down to the kitchens.

It'd make a lot more sense if he just asked the elves to deliver food at that time, but he insists the professors will know. The elves don't tell when students sneak into the kitchen, but they do tell when they deliver food.

She's not sure why it matters if they know or not, but it's not her place to judge.

…

On the train, they're both stretched out in the hallway, sleeping bags pressed together with Yumiko nestled where their hips meet.

"If I tell you a secret, will you tell me one?"

"Why?"

"I just want us to know more about each other," he says, very quietly.

"Alright," she agrees. "You first."

"I'm always afraid when the ministry comes over. My mother never resists arrest, but when I was little, I was terrified they'd just decide to get vilantae justice and would kill us. All of us. Me, her, the elves. They could make it look like whatever they wanted."

She slips her fingers through his.

"We live near a village," she tells him. "And they throw rocks at the house and yell things. During the year, my grandmum spends all day every day walking. She finds things. She finds people willing to trade. A few times, she's come home badly bruised. Claimed she fell. I don't know if it was the villagers or someone else, but I know falling wasn't responsible."

"Merlin," he whispers.

"The worst thing is, my mum didn't go to Hogwarts. Financially, things were better, when my granddad was alive, but I always think, 'She never had any escape.' She still doesn't. My grandmum loves the house; she and granddad built it. But sometimes, I really don't like her for not finding some colony to accept them after he died. Give mum a chance at life."

"Did you ever meet your grandfather?"

"No, he died before I happened. Here's another secret: I don't think my mum planned on having a baby."

In her third year, when the dementors invaded, she had a memory of looking down at a reddish-brown spot on her nursery floor. Before she could touch it, her mother had yanked her up, turning her head. There had been crying and an air of uneasiness.

Some things are probably better not knowing, she'd decided back then.

"I saw you before Hogwarts," Zabini says, quietly. "I was six the first time. We were in Diagon Alley, and you were with your mum and grandmother. Then, every few years, you'd be wherever I was. I wanted to talk to you, but you were always gone before I could get there. During first year, I didn't want anyone to know about my blood status, and talking to-" He hestitates.

"I understand," she tells. "You need to protect yourself and your family. No friendship or anything else is worth it."

"Could we be 'anything else'?"

"How do you mean?"

"Would you go to Hogsmeade with me and stay during my matches? Could we be boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Does it require my mum and grandmum finding out?"

'Thanks," he answers, sourly.

"Zabini, as established, there's a bloody war going on. If there wasn't, I'd suck it up and tell you that you have to come to dinner and be nice to them no matter how ugly you find them or how rude they treat you. You being able to get along with them would be a condition of you being with me. But they need to be worried about keeping themselves safe until we leave the UK. And yeah, I haven't told you, but this summer, we're fleeing. I don't want them worrying about whether some boy is good enough for me or worry about me getting hurt by you. You aren't that big of a threat in the scheme of things."

There's a long silence.

Finally, he says, "When the war's over, if we still fancy one another, can I meet them?"

"You won't want to, but it'll be required."

"Okay," he says. "We don't need to tell our parents."

"Alright," she agrees, squeezing his hand. "I'll be your girlfriend. But I'm still not eating in the Great Hall."

Then, the realisation she has a boyfriend, one who fancies her, one she fancies, really hits her. Suddenly, she's too hot, her heart and stomach are acting up, and she feels a strong, scary urge to laugh. Letting go of his hand, she stands, ignoring the cat's protests. "I need to use the toilet," she says, rushing away, aware that she probably looks and sounds ridiculous.

…

Millicent is used to keeping secrets from her family, but this is different. Some part wants to tell them about Zabini.

Her mum isn't helping; she's found wedding pictures of grandmum and granddad and has been happily showing them off, going on about young love.

"Well," her grandmum says when Mum's in the bathroom. "Is there someone you've taken a fancy to?"

"C'mon, Grandma," Millicent says, hoping she doesn't actually end up lying. "Again, I bring up the pureblood supremacists, the ones who talk about me behind my back, and the ones whose names I couldn't remember if my life depended on it."

"This subject just seems to be making you nervous."

"I'm wondering what it'd be like if he had been around when I was growing up."

Her grandmum sighs and hugs her, kissing her head. "I wonder that all the time, child. He would have spoiled you rotten. We wouldn't have had a chance."

Then, she continues, "Someday, you'll find someone you like, and he'll see how wonderful you are. You still have your whole life, Millicent. I promise."

Millicent hopes so. She has a boyfriend, now. They haven't done anything below the waist, but she's done stuff, adult-like stuff, with another person.

The rest of the visit goes well, aside from the guilt. They've found a shelter for Yumiko, and the colony is steadily advancing, managing to avoid detection.

…

When they get back to school, Millicent has plans to do damage control.

It turns out, she doesn't need them.

Aside from a few 'congratulations' and some mild teasing, no says anything when she and Zabini hold hands around school and ride to Hogsmeade together. She feels Nott watching them, but she remembers her mum and grandmum's advice of staying as far away from him as possible.

'Don't force a confrontation, Millicent. As long as he's not sure how much you know about him, the safer you are for the time."

…

On Valentine's day, Zabini gives her a wrapped present.

"I don't have anything for you."

"You gave me a birthday present," he answers. "Since yours is during the summer, this can count towards it, yeah?"

Unsure, she unwraps it to find an enchanted tent. It's exactly what she's been wanting for several years, a fact she'd told him awhile back, but she hadn't expected him to get one for her. The price-

"If you sniff it, you'll smell coffee and popcorn," he tells her. "For some reason, I wanted one when I was younger. I used it sporadically for about a month."

Overwhelmed, she jolts up and kisses him.

There's noise, and she remembers they're in the common room.

Embarrassed, she jumps up. "Er, thank you, Zabini," she says, sincerely. "This is wonderful."

He grins, proud of the scene they'd caused.

Rolling her eyes, she sits down, pulling him down beside her.

…

"The wording was ambiguous," she insists in reference to the practise exam in Charms. "And if anyone but a Slytherin made the complaint, Flitwick would bloody well do something."

"At least, you didn't get turned into an otter," Zabini answers, unsympathetic. "I swear, Creevey did that on purpose."

"Right, he came to get his brother's camera, and then, just decided, 'Well, I have this trickster wand, I'll pretend to get it confused with my regular and turn this bloke I don't even know into an otter.' Now, the maker of those wands, sure, but Creevey?"

"Yes," he insists as they find a place in the Forbidden forest to set up the tent. They'd decided to sneak away and spend the night studying. Everyone else in their dorms has decided that end-of-the year exams approaching means they need to get as drunk and rowdy as possible. The ones who don't agree with this philosophy are either camping in the common room or with mates from different Houses.

"I was thinking," he says once they've set up, Yumiko purring in his lap. "I could watch her for you. I think she'd do okay with me."

"What about your mum?"

"I've been talking to her. I told her that a friend with a cat was moving and that the relatives might be allergic to it. She said that as long as Yumiko didn't bite and I took care of her, I could babysit for the summer. I can take her back to Hogwarts if you haven't come back by then."

"I think this goes beyond normal boyfriend stuff."

"We were mates before we started dating, and Yumiko liked me even before that."

"I'll talk to mine," she answers before leaning over to kiss him.

Once they took a break from snogging, they poured some pumpkin juice and looked up at the stars.

"I wonder if our astronomy-"

"Bulstrode," he inteurpts, jumping up, earning a loud meow of displeasure from Yumiko.

"What, what is it," she asked, stumbling to get up.

"Someone just fell from the astronomy tower."

"What- Blaise, I don't think-"

But he's grabbing her and tugging, insisting he knows what he saw.

"The tent- Who would be falling? How would they? Why? Zabini, your eyes were playing tricks-"

There's a pang as they run into someone.

"Malfoy," Zabini snaps as they both draw wands, though she's not sure why she did so, since she's never actually drawn her wand on a housemate outside of organised duels, "was it you who it did? Who fell?"

"Never mind him," Millicent says, confused and irritable, eyes trained on the wand pointed at them. "Malfoy, what are you doing out here? We were camping, and Zabini has this mental idea-"

She pauses as a she sees lights flashing at Hogwarts, one of them illuminating the sky enough to reveal a Dark Mark near the tower.

"Imperio," Malfoy says.

Everything is fuzzy, though some is prickly.

"Both of you, go back to your tent. Stay there until a professor finds you."

She should obey, but she digs her heels in, trying to reorient herself.

"Millicent, Blaise," a serious voice says, "it's dangerous. Think of your mums and go back to the tent until a professor finds you."

…

Yumiko's crying wakes her.

Fang, Professor Hagrid's dog, is ignoring the cat's protests and licking her.

Millicent sits up, feeling sick to her stomach. She and Zabini are in the tent. They met Malfoy last night, didn't they? Blaise kept insisting someone had fallen from the astronomy tower. What happened? They met Malfoy, and then?

"Bulstrode, what happened," he inquires, groggily, looking at the squalling cat and large dog in puzzlement.

"Fang!"

Suddenly, they're standing outside, being hugged by their half-giant professor. "Oh, thank goodness, yer both safe."

"Hagrid," Zabini says, "what's going on?"

"Why is there a Slytherin crest floating above my tent?" Millicent inquires after getting free of the hug and picking up Yumiko.

"I had a dream that Snape appeared," Zabini says, looking at it. "He got us into our sleeping bags. I think it might have been real, and he cast it." Then, to Hagrid, he says, "I saw someone fall off the tower last night. Are they okay? Who was it?"

Suddenly, the professor is crying.

They both shift awkwardly.

"Blaise, Millicent!"

Urquhart and McGonagall appear. Once it's been established they aren't hurt, McGonagall comforts Hagrid while the prefect leads them to the dungeon. "Robert, what's going on," Zabini insists as Millicent notices the whole castle is decorated in black, the portraits are all crying as Hagrid had been. "We need to tell the headmaster about what-"

"Headmistress," Urquhart corrects, throatily, causing a chill to run down Millicent's spine. "Headmistress McGonagall. Last night- last night, Professor Snape killed Headmaster Dumbledore; death eaters attacked the castle," he takes shuddering breath. "And Draco Malfoy went with them."

…

"I had Lovegood lead me to some thestrals," Blaise says, quietly. "I couldn't see them."

"My mum and grandmum are coming tomorrow morning," she says, holding his hand. "Sorry I didn't believe you."

"I wish I had been just seeing things."

"Is it alright if I sleep with you tonight?" She's not sure how far they'll go, but everything's gone to Hell. Time to live before she ends up constantly fighting for her life, she reckons.

"Yeah," he answers, wrapping an arm around her.

…

Lying in his bed, a silencing charm around them, Millicent has sex for the first time.

It's a little uncomfortable at times, but it doesn't hurt. Some of it feels rather nice.

When it's over, he curls around her, and she brings her hand up to his head. "Thank you, Zabini," she says, quietly. "For being my friend and boyfriend."

"Thank you for being mine," he whispers back.

"Was this your first time?"

"Yes," he answers. "I'm glad it was with you. Even if this is the end, you're special."

"You, too," she answers, pulling him up for a kiss.

…

"Millicent!"

"Oh, shit," Millicent mutters, jolting awake, well aware as she looks at her shocked mum and grandmum's faces that she's naked and lying next to a similarly attired boy. "Oh, shit."

"What's going on," Blaise mutters as he starts to get up. He must feel their eyes, because he pauses before his sheet can reveal his bottom. Turning his head, he sees them and slumps back down. "This wasn't the impression I wanted to make," he moans.

"Mother, Grandmother, out," Millicent orders, sternly.

Thankfully, and surprisingly, they comply without a word.

"I have to leave," she says, apologetically. "Don't worry. They'll get over this eventually."

"Make sure you take the tent," he says, turning around and sitting up. "Be safe. Come back for Yumiko."

"I will," she promises, kissing him. "I lo- I loathe Malfoy for this, but I promise to try to avoid him."

"Thank you."

She quickly dresses. Some part wants to tell Blaise Zabini she loves him, but she's not sure she does. She doesn't know if her feelings will be the same out of side of school, in the real world. "Goodbye," she says, giving him one last kiss.

"Goodbye."

…

"And the dangers," her mother says, still ranting even after they've left Hogwarts and gotten home.

"I've been taking a monthly potion, and he used the male charm," she interjects, wishing that turning herself invisible was a viable option.

"You didn't even tell us-"

"Dear," her grandmother says to her mum, "calm down. I'm not happy, either. But it seems Millicent was responsible. That's all we have a right to ask for."

"I'm sorry," she says, miserably, hating the hurt she's caused. "I just didn't want you worrying."

Finally, her mother calms down and hugs her. "It doesn't matter, now. Just tell me, honestly, darling: Do you want to try to stay?"

"No," she answers, firmly, taking her mum and grandmum's hands. "Zabini is important to me, but he isn't family. It's always been us three."

Seeing the colony approaching, she finishes, "It always will be."

In response, they squeeze her hands.

Taking a deep breath, Millicent Bulstrode makes a silent goodbye to her home, her school, and her first boyfriend, to everything besides family.


End file.
